Right
by Fonique2
Summary: When Ser Gendry Baratheon finds he has an important role in reuniting war torn Westeros, he knows it's the right thing to do. But when an unexpected woman seemingly rises from the dead to request aid, the knight no longer feels so certain. Looking into those eyes of molten silver is the only thing that feels right.
1. Reuniting

Right

 **Disclaimer: All rights reserved to G.R.R. Martin**

01\. Reuniting

 **Gendry**

During time of war, nothing is ever _right._ Villages burn, families are torn apart, and thousands of men die, only grieved by a young widow and her starving children. And it is never _right_. But as Ser Gendry Baratheon rested his gaze on his queen, he could not deny how _right_ it felt in this moment, and how _right_ it looked, her silvery hair cascading down her back as she rigidly sat atop the throne her ancestors had sat upon. She looked like she belonged there, and it felt _right_.

The War of the Five Kings had lasted years, even after most of the contenders had perished. It had begun when Gendry was five-and-ten and had raged for five years, leaving worried creases prematurely on Gendry's face at the age of twenty.

In the end, it had come down to the Lannisters occupying the Red Keep, and their allies, against Daenerys Targaryan, her army, and her three dragons. Claiming King's Landing had been easier than anticipated (largely due to Daenerys' dragons). Uniting Westeros under the Targaryan banner had proven to be more difficult. It had been three moons since King's Landing had been taken, but unrest around Westeros had been fueled by years of bloodshed and misery and royal houses seemed to be continuing the fight simply because they'd forgotten how to do anything else.

Many houses were still fighting for their lands and their people; House Tully and House Stark doing the majority of the fighting. Queen Daenerys desperately desired to send armies to settle lasting disputes, but her advisers were taking their time deciding the best course of action when it came to disbanding armies and settling lands.

Gendry thought it was easy; give the Starks and Tullys the land that was theirs by right and threaten any who did not comply. The knight had even suggested as much to his queen, but she had only smiled with troubled, amethyst-colored eyes and gently squeezed his hand. Gendry couldn't see what was wrong with his plan, but maybe that was why he was a knight and not a diplomat. He preferred to solve problems with his war hammer, not his words. He'd never been proficient with words.

And that was why Gendry Baratheon stood behind his queen, dressed in white, his arms folded behind his back, while her advisers sat to the side of her. Although, that was not strictly true. Tyrion Lannister, Hand of the Queen, sat beside the Targaryan. Her other trusted adviser, Ser Barristan Selmy, stood behind the queen with Gendry, positioned on the other side of the throne. Queen Daenerys had offered to reinstate Ser Barristan as captain of the Queen's Guard, but he had declined, wishing for nothing more than to counsel his young queen. This was why, Gendry supposed, he was the one dressed in white.

If Gendry had been told, even two years earlier, that he would be the captain of the Queen's Guard, he would have laughed; possibly so hard he would have fallen to the ground, knocking his head and blacking out. It was such an unreachable fate for someone like Gendry, the bastard son of a dead usurper who had grown up in Flea's Bottom, that the idea had never even crossed his mind. But here he was, dressed in white as he surveyed the largest throne room in the world, having been granted the last name of a house all but dead, but that lived forever in history.

Gendry could have laughed right there and then, but he caught himself. He had thought about his current situation thousands of times, and he still could not believe he was _where_ he was, and he was _who_ he was. And he would think about it again, but later. Currently, he was meant to be watching for danger that might present itself to the queen. There was always a threat for anyone who sat upon a seat of power, but with all the changes Queen Daenerys had made, simply by taking her rightful place as ruler of Westeros, the Targaryan had painted a large target on her back for those threaten by change, and those removed from power.

Thus far, only one incident had arisen when a crazed nobleman cut from power attempted to assassinate Daenerys. He had been run through with a dozen blades before he could even taken a single step with his drawn sword. Since, there had not been any kind of attempt on the queen's life with a blade, or poison. At Lord Tyrion's suggestion, the queen chose Tommen Lannister, formerly known as King Tommen Baratheon, to be her food taster. His job was to taste all of Queen Daenerys' food and drink to ensure it had not been tampered with. Tommen had accepted the position after being told his alternative was certain death.

Like all days since the last failed assassination attempt, the day passed without incident. The entire afternoon had been spent in the throne room. Daenerys and her closest members of her council spent most of their time here, as well as crowded around a table deep in discussion and debate in an otherwise quiet room. Mostly, Gendry just had to stand tall and remain alert. Occasionally he would need to remove an agitated citizen, but even that was easy. Queen Daenerys had the hard job of listening to the grievances of, what seemed like, all of Westeros, and answering their pleas.

Gendry was awed by how the queen could so patiently perform this particular duty. More often than he would care to admit, Gendry would let his eyes instinctively look for danger while letting his mind wander. If Ser Barristan ever found out, Gendry would barely have time to gulp before there would be a sword at his throat.

But this was just an example of why Gendry did not envy Daenerys' position. Even after he had discovered who his father was, it had never crossed his mind to vie for the throne. Not that he would have gotten far if he had. The war had killed more important men than him. But he had been more than honored to fight for Daenerys Stormborn, Mother of Dragons.

Before the black-haired knight could lose himself in his memories, the last petitioner was sent from the room and Queen Daenerys let out a long sigh. She got to her feet, stretching sore muscles. At this time of day, the council would normally meet in a solar, usually within the library if Tyrion could choose. Often, they would all take a hurried supper right there as they poured over maps and scrolls. This evening, the silver-haired queen had other plans.

"My friends," she smiled, glancing to each in turn. "You have all worked so hard. I am grateful for all you have done. There is much more to do, but tonight I wish for you all to rest. Take your supper where you please. I will see you all at sunrise."

Everyone bowed to their queen before going their separate ways. Gendry remained, as his duty was to escort the queen.

Daenerys threaded her arm around Gendry's. "Will you walk with me, Ser?"

"Where to, your grace?"

"My bedchamber."

Gendry bowed his head in understanding and escorted his queen to her chambers. He knew the routine well enough, but tonight he was in for a surprise. He stopped in front of the door to the royal bedchamber, waiting for Daenerys to step away, but she did not.

"I would like to speak with you in private," she said kindly, yet it was a demand. Gendry barely had time to nod before Daenerys pushed open her door and strolled inside, Gendry following behind.

Gendry had never been in the queen's chambers. He'd never been inside any royal sleeping quarters in his life. But he had to assume this was as grand as a bedchamber could be.

The room was at least a forth of the size of the throne room; which was, if Tyrion was to be believed, the largest throne room in Westeros. It was separated into smaller areas: the actual bed area, a place for bathing and dressing, and even a separate solar. The room was adorned with Targaryan colors and fine silks.

Daenerys walked over to a set of plush chairs separated by a small, wooden table. An ewer sat upon the table top as well as two goblets and a plate of cheese and grapes.

"Where is Missandei?" Gendry asked., following his queen, referring to the servant/adviser who rarely left her queen's side.

"I told her to take a break as well," Daenerys said warmly. "Would you care for wine?"

"No thank you, your grace."

Daenerys nodded, pouring wine into a golden goblet for herself before taking a seat upon one of the chairs. Taking a delicate sip of wine, she then waved a hand at the other chair, indicating that the knight should be seated.

Nervously, Gendry did as bid. Having grown up in Flea's Bottom, he had not yet learned all that was proper in the world of royalty. Still, Gendry felt uncomfortable sitting in his queen's chambers being offered wine.

"I won't keep you waiting," Daenerys smiled over her goblet. Gendry hoped his anxiety wasn't radiating off of him so much so that his queen could read him. If she could, she didn't comment on it. "As you're well aware, Westeros is still torn."

"Yes, your grace."

"There are still loyalists to the usurpers. Until they can be persuaded to live under my rule, Westeros will not have peace."

"Do you have a plan, your grace?" Gendry asked, curious about her intentions and why she was bringing them to him and not her advisers.

Daenerys took a sip of wine. "To cease the turmoil immediately? No. But there may be something I can do to ease the tension, but I require your help."

"Me, your grace?" Gendry echoed, bewildered. What could _he_ possibly do?

The queen smiled, setting her goblet on the table. "Yes, Ser Gendry, you. You have been legitimized as a Baratheon, a link to the loyalists. I need you to marry me."

Gendry remained silent. He stared, rather dumbly, at his lovely queen's face. Had he heard her correctly? He couldn't have. Yet, Daenerys sat, patiently watching Gendry and her words finally sank in. Gendry's face changed from confusion, to disbelief, to horror.

Before Gendry's mind could command his lips to move, Daenerys spoke up. "I know it is quite the decision, and I would understand your rejection. All I ask is that you think on it."

Gendry feared his jaw was on the floor. He was still trying to fathom that _the queen of Westeros_ would want to marry _him._ Not only that, but that she seemed to be reading his response as offended and maybe disgusted. In truth, Gendry was horrified that the beautiful Targaryan queen would be stuck with him, a bastard-born knight.

Before Gendry could transfer his thoughts into coherent words, Daenerys was rising to her feet and moving to the door of her chambers. Without thinking about his actions (there was no room for such superfluous thoughts in his head currently), Gendry followed his queen, suddenly finding himself outside of her room in the hall.

"I do not require an answer immediately. Now, please, get rest. I will see you on the morrow."

The door closed and just like that, Gendry was alone with his swirling thoughts.

 **Daenerys**

Daenerys caught the bewilderment written on Ser Gendry's face before the door closed between them. She leaned her forehead against the wooden door. There was a long moment of silence before Dany could hear the heavy footfalls of the knight move away down the corridor. Only then did Dany let out a long sigh.

Pushing away from the door, Dany made her way back to her abandoned wine goblet. She plucked it from the table and took a long swallow of the wine before grasping the cup with both hands and making her way to the balcony. She stepped outside and leaned against the railing. It was a warm evening, like many were in King's Landing, but there was a slight breeze in the air that pushed away the humidity. Taking a sip of wine, the newly minted queen let her mind wander to the events of the last twenty minutes.

Dany had not told Ser Barristan or Lord Tyrion about her plan to propose to Ser Gendry, despite the fact she'd been entertaining the idea for months. She rarely did much without consulting her two most trusted advisers. That didn't mean she always followed their advice, but she appreciated their wisdom and opinions and tended to use them to shape her own decisions. So why had she chosen to forgo their advice on this occasion?

In all honesty, she was unsure. She was confident that the plan had reasonable political gains. She thought it was a plan that her advisers might even appreciate. However, she also questioned whether the opinions of the two men might be biased. Ser Barristan had been loyal to her family for decades and it was Ser Gendry's house that had destroyed their dynasty. And Lord Tyrion was cynical of political marriages, as it was his own sister who had murdered her husband, the usurper, and effectively started the War of the Five Kings.

Ser Gendry, however, seemed to be nothing like his father, at least the stories she had heard about Robert Baratheon. Ser Gendry was loyal to a fault and she did not fear losing her reign at his hands. Also, she could not deny he was certainly easy on the eyes with his tall, broad stature, jet black hair, and deep blue eyes that reminded her of sapphires.

Daenerys had plenty of time to tell her advisers, as she had not expected an immediate answer from the knight. And if he did accept, it would take some time to plan a wedding. After all, it would need to be a ridiculously grand event in order to publicly display her position.

There was also the expectation that, after she was wed, she was to quickly find herself with child. With her rule so new and with turmoil still as fierce as ever among the more northern houses, Dany was weary of needing to take a back seat in fixing her kingdom to see to her baby. It was also unknown to Dany whether she could have a child. All the years ago, Mirri Maz Duur has told Daenerys a chain of events needed to pass before her womb could quicken once more. She thought perhaps, she had reached the time where she could once again bear a living child, but the uncertainty made her uneasy.

Daenerys sighed again, emptying her goblet of wine with another drink. She told herself, once again, that she had time. Ser Gendry was not likely to have an answer for her within the next few days, and she would speak to her advisers before any marriage plans would be created. She would make a definite decision when the time was right.

 **Gendry**

The next morning, the queen and her council met in Tyrion's large solar, breaking their fast on blood sausages and gull's eggs. Ser Barristan had escorted her majesty to the room this morning so Gendry had arrived early and alone. Tyrion had questioned Gendry about his punctuation with a raised eyebrow, but the knight said nothing.

In truth, Gendry's early arrival had been brought on by his anxiety over seeing the queen. He knew it was idiotic. After all, Daenerys hadn't confessed her love to him. Her marriage proposal was strictly a political move, and he _knew_ this. Still, Gendry felt a sense akin to awkwardness. He really was stupid.

As Gendry chewed his food, listening to the light banter around him, he wondered if Queen Daenerys had told Tyrion or Ser Barristan, or anyone about her plan. If she had, no one mentioned it. Daenerys herself acted no differently to him than she normally would. And of course she wouldn't.

"We do have a pressing matter today, your grace," Tyrion announced as the council finished their meal and the plates were taken away.

"What is it?" the queen asked.

Tyrion reached in front of him, grabbing a scroll, and handed it to the queen. As she unrolled the parchment, he explained the contents. "This came by raven early this morning. It says a messenger from the north will be here today to seek your audience."

Daenerys' eyes scanned the scroll before nodding, seemingly deep in thought. "The seal, it's a wolf."

"A direwolf," Tyrion nodded.

"A messenger from Winterfell," Gendry whispered under his breath. Although the name had been mentioned countless times in meetings just like this, this particular time, it sent a shiver down Gendry's spine. This time, the name brought a flood of images of a young girl with silvery eyes rushing through his mind.

"Yes," Tyrion said, making Gendry start as he realized he must not have been as quiet as he thought. "Perhaps their situation has worsened without our knowing. The letter does not explain much."

Daenerys nodded. "Very well. Please ensure that the messenger will be the first petition I hear this morning."

"Yes, your grace," Tyrion responded, quickly scribbling down presumably a note to himself on the nearest piece of parchment.

"I will see you all in the throne room," Daenerys said, rising to her feet. "This first petition is of the utmost importance and I will need you all present."

There was a chorus of acceptance before Dany bowed her head momentarily and swept from the room, Ser Barristan taking it upon himself to escort the queen. Once they had left the room, Tyrion raised an eyebrow in Gendry's direction.

"What do you know of sigils and houses?" he asked curiously.

It was common knowledge that Gendry had been base-born, raised to a knight by the Brotherhood without Banners, then raised to captain of the Queen's Guard by Queen Daenerys herself. With the current state of the kingdom, Gendry had not been given the opportunity to learn what other knights had been taught. He could read at a basic level, and he was in tune with his instincts to make him an effective warrior. But knowledge on royal houses, their sigils and their history was lost to the man, or at least Tyrion had assumed there had been no time for such lessons. And yet, he knew the sigil of a nearly desecrated house.

Gendry shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He had never confided in anyone that he had known Arya Stark. The Brotherhood without Banners had known her identity, but by no fault of his own. The royal court assumed, as the court before them had, that Arya Stark was dead. There had been word that the Boltons, who currently annexed Winterfell, had wed Arya to Ramsay Bolton, the son of Roose Bolton, but it was now common knowledge that the wedding had been a farce.

Gendry had not informed his new company of his past with Arya Stark because he, too, assumed that she had perished. Though not on the streets of King's Landing as many believed, but at the hands of the Hound, who had kidnapped her. At the thought of it, Gendry's stomach bubbled with rage and grief and his heart felt heavy with guilt, so he quickly pushed aside the thoughts.

"I lived in Flea's Bottom. We learned quickly about Eddard Stark being executed for treason," Gendry supplied instead.

"He wasn't a traitor," Tyrion mused almost absentmindedly.

A memory flashed through Gendry's mind. A young girl, her grimy face contorted in anger and conviction, screaming: _"He was_ _ **never**_ _a traitor!"_

"I know..." Gendry said quietly. Before Tyrion could question him on his knowledge of that, the knight got to his feet, bound for the throne room.

* * *

Light filtered into the throne room from the high windows positioned around the room. It made the Targaryan banners hung around the room seem more prominent than ever. Yet less prominent than the queen who sat regally upon her throne, dressed in a simple white dress. But her amethyst-colored eyes were intense as they rested on the lone figured who knelt before her.

"Please, rise," Daenerys bid the messenger, and they did just that.

Their awaited arrival was a woman. She was short in stature, much shorter than the queen, and while she wore a gray cloak over her form, Gendry was able to tell she was lean. Her blonde hair was braided and hung over one shoulder. Her face was plain, but clean, as she must have done her best to wash herself of the grime of her travel to address the queen. What struck Gendry, however, were her eyes. They were piercing and calculating and a very definitive color: steely gray.

The woman's eyes passed over the others in the throne room one at a time, never lingering on a single face for longer than a second. But when they passed over Gendry, his heart stopped, and he felt as though she wasn't merely glancing at him in turn, but staring at him, piercing him, analyzing him.

He'd seen these eyes before. He'd seen them filled with grief, and fear, and determination. He'd seen them in his dreams, and in his nightmares. He'd seem them in the face of Arya Stark.

But this couldn't be Arya Stark. Granted, the little girl he had once known would be a woman grown now, at least six and ten. But he knew these features were not ones she would have grown into. The face was completely wrong. And her hair had not been blonde, but a dark brown.

The woman's eyes left Gendry and moved back to the queen, making Gendry feel slightly shaken. He knew her eyes couldn't have been on his longer than a heartbeat, but he felt like it had been minutes with all the thoughts that had been rushing through his mind at once. He knew this woman could not be Arya Stark, Arry the orphan boy, or lumpy head; but then, why did he feel as though he'd just seen a ghost?

It was only when Gendry noticed that the two females had exchanged their pleasantries that Gendry snapped himself out of his thoughts and trained his attention on his queen and their visitor.

"How can I assist you?" Daenerys asked. Gendry knew the queen's desire to help the north was sincere, as ending the dispute was the only way to begin bringing peace to all of Westeros.

"What I am about to reveal to you must be kept in utmost secrecy, your grace," said the girl, her face serious.

Daenerys' face hardened and she nodded.

The woman took a moment of silence before continuing. "The Starks are planning on retaking Winterfell."

"The Starks?" Tyrion asked in surprise from his seat to Daenerys' right. "But the Starks-"

"Are not all gone," the girl said shortly, cutting of the Hand. "Jon Snow, Lord Eddard's son is planning an attack on the Boltons. Sansa Stark is in his company."

"Sansa!?" Tyrion breathed. This earned him a sharp glance from the messenger.

"How is this possible?" asked the queen.

"It is not in my position to say," the messenger replied. "But they have sent me in their stead to plead for your assistance. The north can only be united under a Stark banner. There must always be a Stark in Winterfell."

Daenerys was not educated on this familiar phrase among the northerners, but Tyrion knew it well enough. He also knew how true this was. Once the Starks had been removed from Winterfell and the family scattered and most presumed dead, the north had been thrown into chaos.

"This Jon Snow, is he Eddard Stark's bastard son?" Daenerys asked.

The messenger seemed to bristle as she answered through gritted teeth. "He is just as much a Stark as his sister, Sansa."

"Just so," Daenerys nodded and the tension seemed to immediately leave the woman. "What I need to know, is what sort of leader he is. You understand that a weak leader could only cause the north to return to its current state."

The woman nodded. "He was a very adept lord commander of the Night's Watch."

"Lord commander?" Tyrion's eyes narrowed. "How is it he is no longer lord commander, and alive?"

The woman's lips curled into a shadow of a smirk. "It's a long story."

Daenerys nodded, understanding this was much too complicated of a situation to be decided upon in the throne room. "Please, stay here as my honored guest. We will speak on this matter this evening."

"Thank you, your grace," the blonde woman bowed her head.

Daenerys nodded her head and summoned Missandei forward. The girl met the northern messenger and said a few quiet words to her before gently taking her arm and escorting her from the room. As they passed Gendry on their way to the back of the room, the northerner glanced to the knight. Gendry's breath caught in his throat. There they were, the pools of molten silver, filled with a very familiar emotion. Then the girl glanced away, and she was gone within the halls of the Red Keep.

Who could she be? Who was the girl who looked like a stranger but shared the eyes of a grubby urchin he once knew? Who was this girl who look wrong, but whose eyes just looked...right?

* * *

 **Author's Note**

 **I'm super nervous about this. The longer I worked on this, the more I hated it, but please let me know what you readers think! Please, let me know what you think of this! Should I even continue?**

 **Also, for the life of me, I could not think of a decent picture for this story. If anyone has any better ideas that does not include me stealing someone's excellent fanart, please, let me know.**

 **Thank you for reading! Much love!**


	2. The Walls were Soaked with Memories

Right

 **Disclaimer: All rights reserved to G.R.R. Martin**

02\. The Walls were Soaked with Memories

 **The Girl with Blonde Hair**

The girl with blonde hair never thought she'd walk the halls of the Red Keep again. That is, not as a guest. She had always imagined that if she ever returned here it would be to remove a name, or several, from her prayer. She imagined she would slink through the shadows, be barely a whisper in the wind.

Yet here she was in plain daylight, walking the halls she had once explored as a child, arm in arm with a foreign-looking girl with dark skin and golden eyes. There were no shadows by which to travel. She was not on an assassination mission; though she did have various weapons strapped to her person.

"I am Missandei," the girl introduced. Her voice was thick with accent. "We have a room for you where you can stay until her grace calls upon you. I will have a bath prepared for you."

Arya bit the inside of her lip. She wanted to decline. She would have preferred to make her way to the training yard to stretch her stiff muscles. Her ride from Winterfell to King's Landing had been long as she rode as long as hard as she could each day, leaving little room for activities such as weapons practice. But she knew it would be unwise to decline the bath in favor of training. A woman training would certainly draw attention, and the brunette-turned-blonde planned to stay as inconspicuous as possible. It was the reason she'd gone to the length of dying her hair.

"That would be lovely, thank you," Arya said instead. After all, a true messenger would truly be grateful for a bath,

A bath would be a decent alternative, Arya supposed. It would be nice to scrub away the grime she felt was caked on her skin. She would need to mind her hair though. Too many washes would bleed the false color from the locks.

The young woman named Missandei showed Arya to the door of her temporary quarters, bowed her head, and retreated. Arya entered the room, closed the door, and bolted it. After a moment, she reconsidered and undid the lock. This would save her the trouble of crossing the room to let the servants with the bath enter. Not that the room was large, Arya noted. It was small and sparsely furnished. Only one decoration adorned the room, which was a Targaryan banner hanging above the fireplace. Arya passively wondered that if she had told the queen who she really was, if she would have gotten a nicer room to stay in. Not that splendor mattered to her.

Arya removed her traveling cloak and tossed it into the one chair in the room. She then moved to the far side of the room where there was an open window. The temporary blonde stopped before it, peering out.

The Red Keep was a large castle that loomed over King's Landing. Therefore, Arya could look out over all of the people of the city from her vantage point. She could see the Sept, the second most imposing building in the city. And on the outskirts of King's Landing, she could make out the dingy buildings that made up Flea Bottom. And somewhere in Flea Bottom, Arya knew, sat the blacksmith shop of Tobho Mott.

Arya had never been to the shop herself. She had never met Tobho Mott. But she knew he was a fine blacksmith and was one of the very few who still had the knowledge to craft Valyrian steel. She knew his wife made potato stew so often that Tobho actually paid a street vendor once per week just to eat something aside from spuds. And Arya knew these things because she knew that Tobho Mott had taken in a young boy who had lost his yellow-haired mother. Incidentally, that young boy was now a man grown, dressed in white, protecting a queen.

Arya had seen much and more in her life. She had raised a direwolf born from the first direwolf sighted south of The Wall in centuries. She had seen nightmarish acts perpetrated by men against other men. She had learned the art of looking like another person, those long dead. Naturally, not much shocked her these days. But without a doubt, seeing Gendry Waters as, clearly, the captain of the Queen's Guard for the brand new queen of all of Westeros had surprised the seven hells out of Arya.

She had been so shocked, in fact, that, at first, she couldn't believe it was Gendry. But one glance into the familiar blue eyes was the only confirmation she required. Then for a panicked moment, Arya feared Gendry would recognize _her._ She could change her face and dye her hair, but she could not alter her eyes. She worried that, just as she had known Gendry simply by his eyes, he would remember hers.

But then, she figured, Gendry likely hadn't spent time memorizing her eyes. During their time together, Arya was always looking to Gendry's deep blue eyes. Although she'd rather die than admit to it, those eyes were an anchor in her chaotic world. When she felt her courage wane, or her confidence slip, or her endurance fade, those pools of sapphire recharged her; pulled her to her feet and kept her going.

After all, Arya had been only a girl of ten when she met Gendry It was an awfully young age to try and lead others to safety and defy the god of death. But Gendry had been four years older and quickly became her trusted second in command. Quickly, in this case, referring to the first two minutes she had known him when he had protected her from Hot Pie and Lommy Greenhands when they had tried to take Needle from her. The protection was not needed, but much appreciated nonetheless.

Gendry had been more than a second in command, however. He had been her friend. They were an unlikely pair. He, a tall blacksmith's apprentice, sentenced to a life on The Wall simply for being a bastard, and her, a mousy-highborn girl who liked to play with swords and hold onto childish hopes such as returning to her family. They'd been thrown together by circumstance, but were bound together by the atrocities they suffered together and the blood, sweat and tears they had shared together.

But that was a lifetime ago, or so it seemed. Arya was different now. She was certainly not a mousy girl any longer. She was a woman grown who now had the skills to skewer any enemy that opposed her. And Gendry, well, he was wearing a white cloak. Clearly, he had changed just as much.

A knock on the door tore Arya from her thoughts and she bid her visitors enter. A young boy and a girl who appeared of age with Arya entered, carrying a tub between them. Arya went to them, offering her assistance. The task was a welcome reprieve from her memories.

* * *

The queen sent for Arya around midday. It had been a long wait for the Stark. She'd bathed and attempted to make herself presentable for the queen, eaten a simple yet filling meal that had been brought to her, mentally rehearsed her pitch to the queen, and then had time to sharpen her weapons. Mostly, though, she had spent the majority of her time pacing her small room.

Arya did not do well with stillness. As an orphaned child, remaining still meant death. As an assassin, it could serve its usefulness but Arya had often found that task difficult to master. Still, the guild had kept her so busy that she didn't have much time to practice stillness. Thus, the pacing.

When Missandei finally came to collect the northerner, Arya was brooding in the corner of the ceiling. She held herself in place with outstretched legs and her back. Her arms were crossed over her chest to keep her fingers from drumming impatiently. When there was a knock on the door, Ayra dropped back to the floor before the door cracked open and Missandei appeared.

The foreign girl led her to a large solar. The room was bright due to the large windows around the room and the wall space between said windows were covered with bookshelves. A large, round table sat in the middle of the room, its surface cluttered with leather-bound books, scrolls, and maps. Sitting around the table was the queen, Tyrion Lannister, and Gendry. Standing behind the queen was an older man whom Arya was not familiar with, but held himself like a knight. A sword was strapped to his waist and he wore fine armor.

" _You don't have to be a knight to have armor. Any idiot can buy armor."_

The queen spoke before Arya could lose herself in more memories. "Please, sit."

Arya did as bid, taking the nearest to her and across from the queen. Instinctively, her eyes scanned the room, analyzing everything from the amount of weapons in the room, to possible escape routes, to the looks of intent on the faces and in the eyes of those around her.

"Would you care for wine?" the queen asked, gently summoning Missandei to refill her own wine goblet.

"No thank you, your grace," Arya replied.

Queen Daenerys nodded before taking a sip from her newly filled goblet. She then sat back in her chair and set her striking eyes on the masquerading Stark. "So..."

"Cat," Arya quickly supplied.

"Cat," Queen Daenerys echoed with a smile. "It sounds to me that you have quite the story to tell."

Arya's eyes quickly swept the room again. "Yes...and it contains _sensitive_ information."

The queen appeared only a few years older than Arya but, like Arya, she was bright. "Every person in this room I trust with my life. They would never betray me."

"Ah, but I am not you."

Daenerys smiled. "Our aims are the same. We both wish to unite the north. You are convinced reinstating the Starks as the wards of the north is the way to do this. I need you to tell me why."

Arya remained silent for a long moment. The information she possessed she had only just gained recently. She had only returned to Winterfell approximately two moons past, although she had only revealed her identity to her favorite Stark and to her only sister. She knew they would require her help to secure the north, but she did not yet think it wise to announce the rebirth of Arya Stark to all of Westeros. Her siblings had agreed. She hadn't even fully disclosed her whereabouts for the last several years, instead vaguely answering their questions. Her siblings, however, were open with her, explaining their trials during the time they had been apart.

Their tales had been...horrifying. And if not for all Arya had seen herself, she would not have believed parts of their stories could truly have happened. But she had no doubt they had told the truth, and it was these truths Arya was hesitant to tell others. Although she knew all too well that some day, pieces of their stories would need to come out. Especially Jon, as it would seem curious to many that the former commander of the Night's Watch was alive and yet reigning over the north.

So Arya took a deep breath, but was unsure where to begin. Seemingly sensing this, Tyrion made a suggestion. "Can you tell us how Jon Snow has become an ex-commander and still has his head?"

"Jon...Snow," Arya quickly added the 'Snow' at the end. It would not serve for her to seem overly casual with the Stark children. "He was betrayed by his brothers. Some did not support his initiatives at the Wall and they stabbed him in the back."

"How? How did they betray him?" Gendry asked.

"They stabbed him in the back. And in the chest. In his abdomen."

Realization dawned on those in the room that Arya had been literal. Then confusion settled on their faces. It was Tyrion who spoke up. "But that doesn't explain-"

Arya cut him off. She'd have to plunge right into this explanation. They may think her mad, but all she had was the truth. She had no possible lie she could conjure to make the story make sense. "They stabbed him until the snow was soaked in his blood. They stabbed him until the life left him. When a member of the Night's Watch passes, his watch ends. And so Jon Snow's watch ended. But he was revived."

No one spoke. What Arya could not have known is that everyone had long since abandoned the notion that things of such nature were fairy tales. Gendry had seen what Arya had with their experience with the Brotherhood without Banners and Thoros of Myr. Tyrion had spent much of his life with his head buried in his books, and he had seen enough in his travels to know many of what was written in those books were not false. Daenerys had stepped into fire and been unharmed, and that was proof enough for Missandei and Ser Barristan to believe there were forces at work in the world that no one person could ever hope to understand.

So instead of inquiring upon the matter of Jon's death and revival, Tyrion asked another question. "And how is it that Sansa has been reunited with her brother?"

Arya watched the small man intently. She knew of his marriage to her sister. Sansa had claimed that the Lannister had been kind to her, even forgoing taking her maiden head as was expected of him. Still, Arya searched his eyes closely, looking for any intent that his curiosity over Sansa was for a selfish reason. But what she found, was genuine concern. His eyes were not those of a man who intended to travel the seven kingdoms to drag his long lost bride back to his bed. Still, it was not Arya's story to tell and it was not pertinent to Arya's current mission. So she feigned ignorance. "I am unsure of Lady Sansa's past journey. All I am certain of is that she is alive and well and waiting with her brother to take back her home."

Tyrion nodded but said nothing. He picked up the wine goblet sitting in front of him and took a long drink.

"So Jon Snow and Sansa Stark are trying to take back Winterfell," Gendry clarified. He was not interested in how the pair had come to be in their current situation. While it was undoubtedly an interesting tale, he imagined, all that mattered to him currently was that they were alive and trying to take back their birthright. They had to help; _he_ had to help. He owed it to a young girl who he had abandoned and essentially left for dead.

"Aside from reaching out to the queen for assistance, does Jon Snow have any other forces backing him? Does he have plans?" the knightly-looking man asked from his spot behind the queen.

Arya glanced to the man. "He has an army of his own, though truthfully, he is unsure the forces will be enough to match the Boltons."

Arya knew more of course. She knew his proposed battle plans, and backup plans should they be denied the assistance of the royal army. She had been in the planning meetings and had added her own input. But that information did not need to be shared.

Silence encased the room once more. Tyrion and the assumed knight were looking thoughtful. The queen was watching Arya closely, but she was unsure whether she was truly looking at her, or if she seeing past her, lost in her own thoughts.

Finally, the queen nodded. "Thank you. We will discuss all we have heard. You shall remain here as my honored guest. Please, fill your time as you like. If we require your presence once more, we will find you."

Arya got to her feet, bowing slightly to the queen. "Thank you, your grace."

Turning on her heel, the Stark exited the room.

 **Gendry**

Gendry watched the girl who looked wrong but whose eyes looked right, exit the room. There was a gracefulness in the way that she moved. It reminded him of a cat, the way they slinked about. It was nearly mesmerizing.

"What do you think of the girl's story, your grace?" Ser Barristan inquired.

Queen Daenerys had a finger curled against her pink lips. Her brow was furrowed. "It is...a spectacular story."

"So spectacular it's hard to imagine it could even be dreamed up," Tyrion said.

Daenerys nodded. "At least she believed every word she was relaying."

"The northerners are not much like the southerners. They are not known to dabble in lies and games," Ser Barristan supplied.

Gendry glanced to the old knight. He had known a northerner who was very adept at lying. However, it was possible said northerner had learned that in order to survive and it had not been ingrained in her as a child. Well, a younger child. Gendry often forgot that she had been just a child when he had met her. Pushing aside the memories, Gendry tried to focus on the matter at hand.

"Well that settles it," Gendry said impatiently. "So let's saddle an army."

"Ser Gendry," Ser Barristan interrupted the Baratheon. "You are brave, but young. You are a true knight, but you are no politician."

Gendry stood, slamming his palms down on the table top in aggravation. "Last I was aware, _Ser_ , you were a knight and not a politician either. All politicians do is talk. What more is there to talk about? Winterfell belongs to the Starks and the Starks are ready to take it back; what more is there to be discussed?"

"Fair enough, Ser Gendry," Tyrion said, his mismatched gaze boring into the knight. Gendry knew he was still curious over his knowledge about the Stark House. "Unfortunately, the world is not black and white. There are many who have been loyal to our cause who are worthy of such lands and titles."

"Winterfell was never an offered reward for our loyalists as far as I am aware," Gendry insisted, his teeth beginning to grind. "The north rallies behind the Starks. Without a Stark in the north, it can never be united and our mission to unite Westeros in peace will fail."

The queen had remained silent during the exchange. She was unbothered by Gendry's raising voice and sat unmoving, aside from sipping from her wine goblet. Finally, she spoke.

"I believe Ser Gendry is correct. Didn't you say 'there must always be a Stark in Winterfell', Tyrion?" she said, smililng over at the small man.

"Yes, your grace," Tyrion nodded.

"Then it's settled; we shall assist the Starks."

Gendry couldn't help the grin that formed on his face. Finally someone was listening to him. And the queen no less. A tiny part wondered if her agreement had anything to do with her proposal, but the larger part of him quickly called him an idiot. This was a major situation after all and her trying to appeal to him, which was already unnecessary, would play no role in this decision.

"I propose we develop some plans before presenting them to the messenger," Daenerys said.

"Yes, your grace," came the chorus of replies and the room set to work.

 **Arya**

She was unsure of why she was down here. She really shouldn't be; what if the queen was to call on her? But she made no move to leave. She felt drawn to the room. Perhaps because it was one of her last memories of the Red Keep. She had used this room to flee to safety. Not that the streets of King's Landing was safe for a grubby-looking child, but they were safe for Arya Stark who was wanted by the gold cloaks.

The hidden room she had used to flee (whether to safety or not) was dark, and so big that the small candle Arya had brought could barely penetrate the blackness. Not that she required light to move about a room undisturbed. And so she stayed, roaming the room, admiring the dragon bones discarded and forgotten here.

Arya had discovered this room many years ago. A young girl, perhaps she should have been frightened by the massive skulls hanging from the walls, their teeth nearly the size of her body. But she hadn't been afraid. Instead, she'd been mystified; both by the history of it all, and the power she felt just by looking at the bones of these great beasts.

Arya wondered if the queen knew about this room. Would she like to display dragon bones to the kingdom? Perhaps not; Queen Daenerys did not seem the power-hungry sort. In fact, Arya found she rather liked the silver-haired queen. She had heard the story of her quest and conquer of Westeros and had been impressed with her perseverance and might. Meeting her in person had not disappointed. She was beautiful to look at, and seemed almost dainty, but Arya could tell her position and command from the way she sat, and how those around her gazed upon her.

Best of all, she seemed to genuinely care about the welfare of the north, or at least so far as instilling peace in order to create a peaceful Westeros. Of course, her questioning of the Starks' ability to rule the north was a bit concerning. Without the royal army backing their army, an assured victory could not be thought of. The Boltons had a mighty force and had already taken the fealty of lesser northern houses. It filled Arya with rage, but the rational part of her was aware that fear of not swearing fealty was a great thing indeed. No one would want to cross a house whose banners pictured a flayed man. Well, nearly no one. This was exactly the Starks' plans. But they were wolves, tough and fierce. Not many could claim that.

In fact, these were the same words Jon had spoken to her when he had told Arya many of the houses had switched loyalty. Despite Jon's trials, he was still as calm and level-headed as ever; much like Eddard Stark was.

A pang shot through Arya's chest.

Being an entire sea away from her homeland had done wonders in helping Arya bury her grief over the loss of her family. Having a purpose in life that she thought suited her and working everyday towards it had also helped to lessen the pain. But returning to Winterfell, and visiting her father's tomb, it had brought all the unhealed hurts right back to the surface, nearly as raw as the day they had been inflicted. And it was the pain over her dearly loved, late father, that had brought Arya here.

In all truthfulness, Arya's visit to the north could be considered impromptu at best. She had not made plans to stay and once again become Arya Stark. She still did not know what her future would hold. But the memory of her honorable father, so wickedly taken from her, was enough to drive her to stay and fight, at least until the remaining Starks were home once more. It was what her father had wanted.

With that thought in mind, Arya decided it was time to leave the room that had invoked so many thoughts and memories. It was impossible to tell how much time had passed and Arya feared the queen may be ready for her.

Arya moved towards the stairs hidden in the corner of the room, impossible to see by the light of her candle. As she climbed up the stairs, she felt the presence of the room linger. A child, afraid of the dark and what might be lurking in it might run up the stairs, towards the light and towards safety. Arya did not run, but she felt something akin to a child's paranoia. Something had attached to her in that room. But it wasn't a monster, not of living variety. It was her past. It had officially caught up to her. It was her memories, threatening to cling to her, to bury her in grief and, at the same time, remind her of her true name and have her stomping up to the throne room and announcing herself as Arya Stark. But Arya was not a child, she would not run. Instead, she tried to shake off the presence that seemed to stick with her. But as she traveled away from the hidden passageway and to the room she had been allotted earlier, she could still feel it trying to cling to her. As she hastily stepped into her room and slammed the door, she swore she almost heard a familiar, fatherly voice breathe: _"Arya_."

* * *

 **Author's Notes**

Okay guys, serious notes time! Firstly and most importantly: a huge thank you to everyone who followed and favorited this story, and especially those who left reviews! I was thrilled with the feedback! I have another story I am working on but because the response to this story was so positive, I decided to update this one first! So thank you very much!

Speaking of my other story...if any of you are also readers of _A Tale of Ice and Fire,_ do not despair. I have not forgotten that story. I will update that next.

I know not much happened in this chapter. I laid this chapter out with the purpose to help flesh out their older characters a bit. I hope it was okay? Let me know!

Now I am briefly going to explain some things you may and may not be seeing in this story. This section is not necessary to read so if you can't, don't, because it may **CONTAIN SPOILERS.** Okay, ready? This story is following the books although don't be surprised if I pull some things from the show because Martin takes forever in getting me another book. As far as Jon goes, R+L=J has not been confirmed. I have always believed in it but I don't know that it is technically cannon. Regardless, I am not sure whether or not that whole situation will be discussed in this story, or if I will continue to skirt around how I believe he would have actually been brought back to life. Also, as far as memories go, I'll be honest, I haven't reread the books lately. Mostly I'm writing from what I remember and if I'm trying to write about a certain event, I might look it up. For instance, running through the room with dragon bones; I'm not 100% that happens, I can't remember. But I'm acknowledging that it might not be cannon so please don't hate me if it's not! Oh, and I did a lot of research on the Faceless Men; there's not a whole lot out there. There is debate about how much appearance they can change. I read a wonderful story where they can change eyes, hair, everything. To me, from how I read how the process works, it just sounds like the face is what changes. So that's what I'm going with. Arya cannot change her hair or eyes using her techniques.

Once again, thank you so much for reading! Reviews are always welcome and encouraging! If you have a suggestion or notice a major error, please feel free to discuss that with me, as I want this story to be as likable as possible. Thank you for the love! Wishing you the warmest regards!


	3. No Rest for the Weary

Right

 **Disclaimer: All rights reserved to G.R.R. Martin**

03\. No Rest for the Weary

 **Daenerys**

The Queen of Westeros watched the woman sitting across from her keenly. She was certainly dressed like a messenger, in very plain and comfortable clothing. Her appearance was also not, Daenerys admitted, special in anyway. Like her attire, her facial features were plain and forgettable. What was spectacular about the woman was her eyes, which were a peculiar yet beautiful silvery color.

More peculiar than the woman's eyes, however, was her very presence. The way she held herself, sitting straight and important in her chair, did not mark her as a simple messenger. Her entire being radiated confidence, purpose and strength. Daenerys may have been intimidated by the small woman if Daenerys herself wasn't confident and strong. But from a young age, the nobles of this land would have marked the woman as inferior. Any exhibitions of these traits would have been squashed out of her. Especially since she hailed from the north which was currently run by the tyrannical Boltons.

Yes, there was no mistaking that the woman in front of her was very interesting indeed. Different at the very least. In fact, Missandei had reported that she had found the messenger pacing the halls of the keep, seeming fidgety before she was brought before Daenerys.

But the queen did not have the spare time to wonder over the different messenger. She did not mark her as a threat to herself or her council and so her musings must be cut short. There were important matters to discuss after all.

Daenerys leaned forward just slighty in her seat, hands clasped in her lap. "The Starks and I want the same thing, Cat. Peace. I will send with you five-thousand soldiers to reclaim the north."

"Thank you, your grace," the messenger bowed her head. She did not sound relieved, or happy, or as though the news brought her any kind of emotion at all.

"Ser Gendry here," the queen gestured with her hand to her black-haired knight. "Has volunteered to lead my men; against my wishes."

"Your grace?" this time the messenger sounded confused.

"He is the captain of my Queensguard, you see. I will greatly miss him by my side," Daenerys smiled. Perhaps by letting the Starks know that she had sacrificed such an important figure of her own for the cause, they would trust her rule.

But that was not all of it, if Daenerys was being honest with herself. When Gendry had offered himself to lead the liberation of the north, and not only volunteered, but insisted it be him, a sharp pain had shot through the queen. It was peculiar, and annoying, but painful nonetheless. Why was her knight so adamant on helping the north? For a region in which he had never traveled, he certainly seemed attached to it. Enough to leave his queen's side.

Ah, there it was. That was what stung. But how very strange. She did not have feelings for her captain. Her marriage proposal had been strictly of the political sense. And as far as politics were concerned, sending Gendry to the north could further their cause. A Baratheon riding under a Targaryan banner to reinstate the Starks as wards of the north may well win over those who had been loyal to Robert Baratheon; which was many as the late Lord Eddard Stark had been like a brother to the late usurper.

Still, Daenerys could not deny that she _liked_ Gendry. He was just so simple. Gendry never cared about politics. All he saw was right and wrong. If something was right, he did it. If it was wrong, he did not. He was caring and just and loyal. The fact was, Daenerys thought she could be very happy married to Gendry Baratheon. He would never take the place of her late husband Khal Drogo, as no one could, but it was possible he could mean more to her than Daario. Daario had been a tender lover, and she had love him in some ways, but not with her soul and being.

It was a funny thing, love and marriage. Before setting sail for Westeros, Daenerys had left Daario in Meereen to oversee that her rule there had not been in vain. It had been Tyrion's idea. He figured it would be best that the queen not have a lover in Westeros, as it was greatly frowned upon. Unfair, he had agreed, but that did not change things. And so she had left her handsome lover behind.

But here was Gendry, who had appeared in her life quickly after her arrival in Westeros. When they met, he had been apart of a small group calling themselves the Brotherhood without Banners. Gendry had come to her, seeking only to help her and her cause in any way that he could. He had been forthcoming and honest and even revealed to her that he was one of Robert Baratheon's bastards.

Ser Barristan had not liked the sound of that at all. He urged his queen to turn away the man, and Daenerys almost had. But Gendry had sworn that he had no intention of vying for the throne himself. He wanted nothing to do with it, he claimed. In fact: _I wouldn't know how to speak to 'em noble folks anyhow_.

They were just words, and words were wind. But there was just something about Gendry that made the queen believe him. And she was glad she had, because he had been loyal to her every day since and had been nothing but a valuable asset. And now he could be her lord husband. Of course, not anytime soon since he would be journeying to the north.

The queen realized she'd been momentarily lost in thought and nearly jumped when she reentered reality. She hoped no one had noticed her lapse in attention, but one look at the messenger told her otherwise. The blonde was giving her a very strange look. Her eyes were narrowed, but they were not glaring. They seemed almost, suspicious? Accusing? Or maybe the light was just playing tricks on the queen's mind. She was feeling rather tired.

Daenerys smiled again. "But there is no finer knight to lead these troops and so you may have him. But be sure he comes back to me, unmaimed if possible."

The messenger's peculiar eyes shot over to Gendry, where Daenerys could just picture him trying to hide an amused smiled.

"I will pass the message along, your grace," the woman finally nodded, then smiling as if it was an afterthought.

"Excellent," Daenerys got to her feet; she had been getting rather stiff sitting in her chair. The others in the room followed suit. "I look forward to hearing news of victory in the north. And please, tell Lord Snow that if he requires anything further of me, he need only ask."

"Thank you, your grace."

"Ser Gendry, I will leave the rest to you," Daenerys said before making her way to the door. Everyone bowed and Missandei and Tyrion hurried to catch up with her.

 **The Messenger**

When the door shut behind the queen, only Arya, Gendry and Ser Barristan were left in the room. The older man approached Gendry while Arya remained standing by her seat, unaware of what she should do.

"I will inform the men," the older knight said. "They can be ready in two day's time."

Gendry nodded. "Thank you, Ser. I will begin work on the preparations."

Ser Barristan nodded to Gendry and turned to Arya to do the same before taking his leave. When he had, Gendry turned to face Arya. And Arya noticed, with a twinge of annoyance that she did notice, that this was the first time the pair had been face-to-face since she was a child holding onto silly dreams. Including some dreams that had involved the man standing before her. Dreams that had been taken from her and had broken her heart.

Despite her order's attempts to dismantle all that was Arya Stark, Arya could still vividly remember the instance Gendry had abandoned her for a knight's title and a warm bed. She had tried hard to suppress the memory for some time; for very good reason. Every time it had played through her head, it sent a stabbing sensation through her heart. Gendry had meant a great deal to Arya Stark and yet, she had meant so little to him. He had abandoned her by choice, caring not, nay even knowing not, how it tore at her heart.

For quite some time, even well after she had been brought into the House of Black and White, Arya harbored resentment for Gendry Waters. Some resentment born from the simple fact that he had been able to hurt her enough to gain such disdain from her. But for so long Gendry had been dear to Arya. He had been her constant; her friend, her family, part of her pack. On more than one occasion, despite spending the night on the forest ground, stomach's grumbling in protest and desperately trying to soak in the heat from a pitifully small fire, when Arya had glanced across the flames to her friend's eyes, she got the very strange sensation of _home_. She'd been too young at the time to realize what that had truly meant, but she had known she could not bare to let it go. But he had let go for her.

As Arya aged, the memory stayed with her, as did the pain the memory caused. But over time, Arya's resentment faded. Never to nil, of course, as that kind of pain can never truly vanish. But Arya made a conscious choice to try and understand Gendry's decision. Perhaps then, she could let go. She had to let go, as it was, for No One has no resentment. And so, older and wiser, Arya tried to imagine herself as a boy of ten-and-fifteen in a very troublesome situation.

Before the Brotherhood had captured them, Gendry, Arya and Hotpie had been three, well, near children really, fearing for their lives as they wandered the wilderness hopefully lost. It was more likely than not with each passing day that they would be killed. Arya had to reason that joining a group of fairly skilled outlaws had probably been a decent alternative to dying for a boy of ten-and-fifteen. Of course, Arya had told Gendry he could smith for Robb in Winterfell once Arya had been reunited with her family. But he had not seemed pleased with the prospect. Arya had to believe Gendry feared being used to cause more of the pain and hardship he had endured ever since leaving King's Landing.

Arya still thought it was all rather stupid. That even this reasoning was a weak argument for abandoning her. But it eased some of the pain to believe he had not abandoned her because he truly wanted to, but because he saw no option. It was what she had to believe, lest the anger and bitterness one day devour her.

As she looked to Gendry now ( _ser_ Gendry, she reminded herself), she did not feel the overwhelming anger she once had. Nor the near soul-crushing pain the had been born from his abandonment. Rather, be alone with Gendry left Arya with a feeling of cool indifference. Which would be best for the road to Winterfell Arya had begun to feel slightly panicky when Queen Daenerys announced that Gendry would be leading the Targaryan forces.

After Arya's initial introduction to the queen, Arya had not feared being recognized for who she was. Her face was different, as was the color of her hair. Even the length of her hair would most likely bewilder Gendry. Last he had seen her, her hair had not yet grown down to her shoulders, and now it cascaded to her middle back. Although currently, and often enough, it was drawn into a single braid that typically hung over her right shoulder.

But Arya eyes were the same gray they'd always been. They were shaped different in the face that she wore, but the color was undeniable. But plenty of people had gray eyes, she reasoned. And as she had assured herself earlier, Gendry had not spent much time gazing into her eyes throughout the time they'd spent together. She had not been overly concerned about Gendry discovering her true identity.

But his traveling back to Winterfell with her changed that completely. With such a large army, the journey was bound to take them near three month's time; an excruciating long time for someone who could make the trip alone in much less time. In three months, it was all too possible that Gendry could begin to recognize her. Even if she could hide her very Arya mannerisms, which she should be an expert at by now, her eyes would still be there. And what if Gendry connected gray eyes with Winterfell and the reemergence of the Stark family? Despite the fact that Arya had returned due to her half brother and her sister reemerging, it would not be a stretch for Gendry to put all those pieces together.

And then what? If Gendry knew who she was, her secret would be known by more than her brother and sister. As captain of the Queensguard, Gendry owed his queen the knowledge of Arya Stark's arrival. And from the queen, all of Westeros could be alerted. Arya certainly did not want that. Until she decided which path she wanted to take, Arya preferred to remain dead in the beliefs of others. Hells, even if Arya chose to remain in Winterfell, she could do without her name calling every male suitor to her door.

Anxiety ripped through Arya. It was the same anxiety that had lingered with her since her return to her homeland. The entire land was riddled with terrible memories, and the good memories she recalled after glimpsing the outer walls of Winterfell were soured by the fact that most of her family was dead. She realized returning to Westeros had been an impulsive decision and she was likely to be punished by her order upon arrival back in Braavos. She was bound to return after all. It was unlikely Arya would want to remain in Westeros and reclaim the destiny of being married off to some fat lord to bear his children. But Westeros was her home. No...Braavos was her home.

Arya's head began to spin, as it always did when these thoughts, always in the back of her mind, surfaced. She quickly tried to shove them down. There was no time in the present to go over them. She knew she would never make a final decision until the reclaiming of Winterfell anyway. How long had it been since she lost herself in her thoughts? It felt like ages but in reality, it had probably only been a few moments, as Gendry was not looking at her strangely, nor had he even seemed to have spoken to her yet. Although he seemed about to, so Arya managed to close away her pesky thoughts and focus on the matter at hand.

"We will leave at sunrise in two day's time," Gendry told her. "It will be a rush to prepare the supplies, but I don't think we should be delayed. You should probably send a raven to Lord Snow."

Arya nodded to the captain. She was surprised how quickly they would be moving it. It made Arya feel more confident in the queen's assertion that she wanted peace in Winterfell, and soon.

"I will take you to the maester's study. You can borrow a raven," Gendry continued.

Arya nearly opened her mouth to tell the knight that she knew where the maester's study was (or at least where it had been when she'd last been in the keep), but she caught herself in time. How silly it would have been for her to suggest she'd been here before. If her concentration was to be this slippery for the next few months, she'd be in a lot of trouble. She would need to play this role more carefully.

"Thank you," Arya nodded in response to Gendry's offer.

With that, the pair left the room.

 _ **Ser**_ **Gendry**

It was not particularly a long trip to see the maester. Still, Gendry should have been using the time to formulate plans and decide how much provisions he should ask the kitchen to prepare. But the knight found that he couldn't focus on these things, as important as they were. Instead, Gendry was rather preoccupied with the girl walking on his right.

Their journey though the corridors had been a silent affair. The girl seemed intent on not speaking as she had her gaze set forward, her lips pressed together. Normally, Gendry would have been perfectly content with such a situation. He wasn't one for talking much either. But something about the girl made Gendry feel 'off-balanced' and the accompanying silence almost set him on edge. Like he'd done many times since he laid eyes on her, Gendry wondered again just who she was.

She wasn't Arya, he told himself once again. But every time his brain said that, he could almost hear his heart screaming in protest. But he knew it couldn't be her. Aside from the eyes, she looked all wrong.

Lots of people had silver eyes, he told himself.

 _But not all silvery eyes look at you like_ _ **hers**_ _do_ , retorted the little voice in the back of his head.

And by gods if that voice wasn't convincing. Gendry took a glance over to the girl at his side.

After the initial meeting in the throne room, Missandei had escorted this girl who called herself Cat to her chambers. As Cat was leaving, her eyes found Gendry's for a split moment before she left the room. It was that very look his little voice was referring to.

Gendry could not pretend to be good with people. In his youth, he had spent little time with others. Instead, he grew up with the consistency of smithing. Gendry could learn everything about how a weapon was made by looking at it, but he could not say the same for people. Often times, he had a very hard time reading people. He could tell when someone was angry, or sad, or happy; those were easy after all. But the subtle thoughts and emotions of others were not as easy to pick up on.

But Gendry almost felt that he could read Cat's eyes then. He should say that he didn't exactly know what emotions were playing in them. But he knew, he just _knew_ that while he couldn't understand what they eyes were saying, he had seen those eyes say such things before. For someone who could not read, all books would appear to be gibberish. But if they had seen that book before, with its similar structures and pictures, they could at least say they'd seen the book before. It felt like that for Gendry.

Now, the more he caught the messenger's eyes, the more he tried to read them, but he could never find much. They were blank slates now; they could be anyone's eyes. Maybe he'd imagined the familiar eyes before. Maybe his guilt and well-buried sorrow were making him see what they wanted him to. That did not make something true.

Even if Arya had survived the Hound, to make it to this age when she had been so young would be an impressive feat. Gendry knew she was a strong girl, but war-torn Westeros was a dangerous land for even the strongest of grown men. It was very unlikely that Arya was alive. If she was, where was she all this time? If she was alive, she was very well hidden.

 _Or very well_ _ **disguised**_.

Ah, so the little voice was trying to tell him this girl was Arya Stark, but in disguise. Gendry took a quick glance over. But no, that couldn't be. The facial features were all wrong, even if it had been years since he'd last seen her. The cheek bones were too low on this girl's face; cheeks bones just didn't relocate themselves as one grew. They eye shape was wrong too. Arya's eyes were slightly rounder, where as this girl's eyes were near oval-shaped. No, there was no disguise on this earth that could change the very shape of someone's being.

Gendry told the voice in his head to shut up just as he and his companion reached the door to the maester's study. Gendry knock twice and waited for the elderly man inside to bid him enter. When he heard his voice through the door, Gendry did so and the girl who was not Arya, followed.

"Ah, Ser Gendry," greeted an older man, dressed in simple robes. He had been sitting at a table, reading if the book on the table top was any indication, but had risen to greet him. "Is the queen in need of assistance?"

"Not today," Gendry shook his head. "But my companion here needs to send a raven north."

The light blue eyes of the maester traveled to the girl standing just beside Gendry. She'd been casually glancing about the room but, as though sensing the man's gaze on her, turned her head to him. She nodded in greeting.

"Do you have the letter?"

Cat shook her head no.

"No matter. There's parchment and ink over there on that table. When you've finished, we will send it."

Gendry watched Cat give the older man a small smile, thank him, and leave his side to work on her letter. While she did so, Gendry discussed with the maester the medical supplies they would need for their journey. The older man promised he would get all that he could prepared in the short time that he had.

When Cat was finished and the letter was sent on the leg of a raven, Gendry bid the maester a good evening and escorted Cat back to her room. The trip was just as silent as it had been to the study, but Gendry did not mind. As much as his swirling thoughts bothered him, he found that the silence between himself and his companion was not awkward. It was not a comfortable silence, but he found that he could keep his eyes forward instead of glancing at the girl at his side every other minute.

Once Cat was safe in her chambers after a quick exchange of departing pleasantries, Gendry made his way to the kitchens. He had much to prepare for and little time to do so. He could only hope his preparations would quiet his busy mind and keep him focused. After all, his task was not just a personal endeavor to help calm his conscious, but an important mission that would benefit all of Westeros. He hadn't the time to dwell on the strange messenger and whether her name was really Cat. Maybe once his mission was complete, he could rid himself of the guilt he felt over his long lost, and most likely long departed, friend. He could return to his post in King's Landing and tackle his decision on whether he should accept a new position as lord husband to the Queen of Westeros. And those swirling thoughts kept him busy to his trip to the kitchens, and his long night alone in his chambers.

* * *

 **Author's Notes**

 **I am so grateful to all of you who have followed, favorited and reviewed! And a large thank you to all of you visitors who read from the shadows! I realize this isn't exactly the bar for AryaXGendry fics, but I'm still overwhelmed with the feedback this story has gotten. It's been quite some time since I've received attention in the fanfiction world (I haven't produced much in recent years, and it was on a very old site that no longer exists) and so every review and every follow or favorite just means so much to me!**

 **Leggomymeggo92: thank you for that reminder! Those details are exactly what I want to keep up on in this story. I always believe the details are what really make or break a story. Thank you for taking the time!**

 **Have I gushed enough? Okay, great! I know this chapter isn't as long as the others, but I feared the quality would diminish if I aimed for quantity. I hope this chapter was worth the wait! I'm trying to alternate posting for this story and my RhaegarXLyanna fic.**

 **Please, let me know how I'm doing. If anything is lacking or there's something you'd like to see specifically, let me know. Thank you all again and I look forward to more reviews and followers! Much love!**


	4. The Journey Home

Right

 **Disclaimer: All rights reserved to G.R.R. Martin**

04\. The Journey Home

 **Arya**

Two days passed quickly for Arya, despite the fact that she had little preparation to attend to for her long journey north. The Stark found other ways to occupy herself. She spent a lot of time not within the Keep, but out in the streets of King's Landing. She didn't visit shops, but merely wandered, watching.

The streets seemed much different than they had when she was a girl of ten. The city didn't seem quite so large, the citizens as frightening. Despite the fact that she had not grown to be a tall woman, her view seemed so much different than when she was a dirty urchin scrounging for scraps and animals to sell for real food. But she still noticed the darkened alleys and the sullen, dead eyes of the dirty orphans completely unnoticed by passersby.

Arya even made her way to Flea Bottom. Here she did look for a particular shop, though she did not step inside. Instead, she stood across the street, concealed in the shadow of a stack of wooden crates, peering up at an old, wooden sign swinging above a shop that read 'Tobho Mott Blacksmith'.

It was a curious thing to do, Arya admitted. She should not be drawn to such sentimentality. But here she was, regardless. A boy had lived here once; eaten, slept and dreamed within the walls of the small building. A boy long lost to her. She would not gain him back by staring at a near-rotting sign. Nor had she ever wished to restore her friendship. Yet here she stood.

She stood for some time, feeling silly but rooted to the spot nonetheless. It was growing dark outside, into the evening of the eve of her departure north. She should return to the Keep. But as she moved to do so, a very interesting sight caught her eyes, once again staying her feet.

A man was exiting the shop. A man she knew well.

 _Gendry_?

It shouldn't have been an odd sight. After all, Gendry had grown up here. This was his home. It would not be unusual for him to visit. But he was carrying something, Arya's keen eyes noticed. It was a package; a long package wrapped in a tan cloth. Weapons, she assumed. Still not out of the ordinary.

It was nothing interesting, Arya decided, and it was time she returned to the Keep. She waited until Gendry was out of sight, then slithered out from her hiding spot and followed Gendry's path back to the Keep.

The last few days, Arya's path would have been much different than the one she was taking currently. To occupy her evenings, Arya had taken to visiting the local taverns. Taverns were filled with drunk men, and drunk men loved to talk. No secret or tall tale was safe on the loose lips of a drunk man. And in Arya's line of work, this was very convenient.

So Arya had dressed in her heaviest cloak, too warm for the southern heat but perfect for hiding her figure and features, and tried to pry some tales from intoxicated men. Her aim was to learn what had happened to the Lannisters, namely _former_ Queen Cersei. While she was clearly aware they were taken from power admist dragon fire, she had yet to hear what had happened to the vile woman. She knew King Joffrey was dead, had been for some time, as well as Tywin Lannister, but the fate of Cersei Lannister eluded her.

To her astonishment, no one seemed to know about Cersei's fate either. Arya had been sure _someone_ would know, but not a single soul in over three taverns claimed to. There were rumors of course, there always were. Some said she'd been eaten by one of the new queen's dragons, while others said the dragons had roasted her alive. Some claimed she had drunk poisoned wine when she realized all was lost. Others swore up and down she had escaped and was hiding among the common folk. Arya had heard all manner of rumors, but no solid facts.

The queen clearly hadn't wanted what had happened to the Lannisters to be common knowledge. Arya supposed there were plenty of strategic reasons why. She also thought it spoke to Queen Daenerys' rule that she had not strung up the Lannisters as an example. What spoke to Arya even more, was how well Daenerys' wishes had been kept. She had either killed all who knew (which Arya thought was plausible, but not likely), threatened all who knew (much more likely), or she simply had such a loyal following.

Regardless of how it came to be that none of the common folk seemed to know the whereabouts or even life status of Cersei Lannister, it aggravated Arya. After what Cersei had done to her family, Arya felt she had the right to know what had happened to her. It had also crossed her mind that she also had the right to end her life if she was still living. But then other thoughts crossed her mind. Voices, in fact. She could hear them just as clear as if she was standing across the sea in Braavos.

" _How would it help you to seek vengeance? Vengeance for what? You are no one. No one has no use of vengeance."_

Arya's mind wandered to her masters, not for the first time since her departure. After learning about her brother's and sister's reemergence in the north, Arya had packed her things, including unearthing Needle, in the dead of night and left for Westeros without speaking to anyone. Although admittedly, Arya was sure her absence had been noted immediately. Nothing seemed to escape the attention of the Kindly Man.

Arya was sure severe punishment awaited her back at the House of Black and White. And it had not escaped Arya's conscious that she may not even be allowed to return. She had exercised great disobedience by abandoning her order and returning to Westeros, whether she planned to return or not. But she could not dwell on this now. She could only deal with the task at hand; which was returning the Stark name to Winterfell. Arya was no stranger to consequences, and she would face them when the time came.

 **Gendry**

The morning of his departure was graced with perfect weather. As the sun had not yet risen completely in the sky, the temperature was warm, but not scorching. There were no clouds in the sky, meaning no rain for the first leg of their journey. There was also little humidity, which would become increasingly delightful once mounted on a horse.

Although Gendry was accustomed to waking early, he was tired. Readying such a large army, its horses and supplies had not be an easy feat. He had worked tirelessly, along with others, to prepare in such a short time. But he was anxious to get underway and put things right.

As the army readied itself and the last preparations were made, Queen Daenerys and her council stood outside the Keep, waiting to send her warriors off. After readying his horse, he approached his queen, who stepped away from her council to meet him.

"Are you thoroughly prepared?" she asked.

Gendry nodded. "As well as we can be, your grace. I do n't expect any problems."

Daenerys smiled up at him, as she was at least a head shorter than him. Most people were. "Be sure to return to me unharmed."

Gendry could feel a strange warm sensation spread through his chest. Political arrangement or not, his queen seemed to genuinely care about his well being. He smiled back at his queen. "I will do my best, your grace."

Daenerys said no more, but raised a delicate hand for him to take. He did so, planting a gentle kiss upon it.

"If you perish, I will take your answer to be a no," Daenerys said with a twinkle in her eye. Before Gendry could respond, the queen turned and headed back to her council. Gendry could only stare after her, unable to ignore her beauty even from behind.

"Best to put your tongue back in your mouth, ser," quipped a voice at his elbow.

Gendry nearly jumped, having been so caught up in his exchange that he hadn't noticed someone approach him. He turned to see the messenger smirking at him. She held the reigns of her horse in one hand, its saddle laden with bags.

Gendry may have blushed, he couldn't have known, but he did not dignify the woman's comment with a response. Instead, he took her arrival as a hint that it was time to depart and hoisted himself onto his black horse. The messenger quickly did the same, but with much more fluid motion. With one last glance at his queen, who waved, Gendry turned the reigns of his horse and began his very long journey to the north.

–

It took a full moon to make it past the Eyrie. Good fortune had so far been with them and there had been very few problems, and none of them major in any sense. The weather had been nice enough, the skies only drenching them with rain once per week. However, the closer they rode towards the Twins, the wetter it seemed to become. Still, the men remained in good spirits.

The roads they traveled seemed remarkably safer than they had when he had roamed them as a younger man. At first, he had assumed it was due to his confidence in his fighting ability, the war hammer strapped to his back, and the army he traveled with. But the further he rode, the more he realized that the lands really were safer. Order had been restored, at least part of it since Queen Daenerys took the throne. Gendry knew she would be pleased to hear this.

The one person who did not seem pleased with the cooperating weather or the lack of danger or the increasing nearness of Winterfell, was the messenger. Gendry could not say why, but he was acutely aware of her presence throughout their journey. He reasoned, however, that traveling day and night for such a long time was not exactly exciting. His mind wandered and seeked a change in the monotony of their days. Observing the strange messenger achieved this goal.

In the beginning of their journey, she rode her gray horse in the front of the army alongside Gendry and his generals. She did not speak with anyone, only stared ahead or sent darting glances about their surroundings, although expecting danger to jump out at them. As the time of the journey lengthened, the messenger, Cat, seemed to fall further and further into the ranks, seemingly attempting to distance herself from Gendry and his front line.

At first, Gendry wondered if this had to do with the possibility of fighting. Being in front would mean, in many cases, being the first to encounter any danger and perhaps she wasn't much of a fighter. But Gendry had seen, on more than one occasion, several weapons hidden among the saddle bags of her horse. If she carried one weapon for protection, that would make sense. Even if one couldn't properly use a weapon, having one for defense would be better than having nothing. Someone with several, however, was inclined to know how to use them.

It was strange, Gendry finally decided. She certainly seemed to be avoiding contact. Not just with him, he discovered. When the army made camp to rest, he was very aware that she spent no time with his men. In fact, she was usually no where to be found. She clearly did not want contact with anyone. But why?

The reasons for why shouldn't have bothered Gendry in the least. After all, he didn't know this woman. In fact, after they reached the north, it was more than likely he'd never see her again. But there was just something about her. He felt drawn to her. How stupid was he?

So one evening, as camp was being made, Gendry followed Cat's movements. He watched her dismount her horse with the rest of the army and direct the horse to be fed and watered. He observed her as she set up her sleeping roll, slid something beneath it (most likely a weapon) and then moved towards a near section of forest. As she disappeared within a tight mass of trees, Gendry followed.

Gendry entered the forest where Cat had, but she was no where to be seen. She must be quick, Gendry thought. He ducked a low hanging tree branch and just straightened when he felt cold steel against his throat.

"Do you usually make a habit of following women into secluded areas?"

Gendry's body tensed up on him. The steel just lightly kissing his skin was demanding his full attention and he found his mind humming. There was a faint buzzing drone in his ears that almost drowned out his stuttering.

"I-I-I...um, I-uh-!"

Cat must have taken mercy on him, as she slightly pulled her blade from his neck. She did not sheath it, but kept it close enough to him that Gendry could still see her steady hand holding it at neck level.

"The words you are looking for are 'yes' or 'no," Cat said from behind him, in a tone that hinted that she may have been amused.

"N-No!" Gendry finally sputtered. "I was just-well, you shouldn't be wandering around on your own! It's not safe..."

This time, Cat did retract her blade. She slid it into a hidden pocket within her cloak and stepped around to stand in front of Gendry. In doing so, Gendry could fully see just how tiny she was in comparison to him. The top of her head only reached his chest and her frame was slight with just a gentle swell at the hips. And yet, Gendry still felt intimidated. After all, hadn't he learned long ago that smaller meant faster?

"I'm quite sure I can handle myself, ser," Cat said with just a hint of a smirk ans sarcasm dripping from her words.

"I-uh...yes," Gendry nodded dumbly in agreement.

Silence followed, only broken by the gentle hooting of owls. Finally, Cat raised an eyebrow, watching Gendry unexpectedly. It was only then that Gendry finally realized that he was supposed to leave. Trying to spare himself further embarrassment, Gendry did just that, as quick as he could leaving behind the rolling eyes of a girl who was desperately trying to hide her smirk.

 **Arya**

After the incident in the woods, Gendry stayed clear of Arya. In fact, her performance had so embarrassed him, or scared him, that she felt safe enough to ride closer to the front of the march, just several lines behind where Gendry rode. Arya was pleased by this, as she knew they were nearing the north and she had wished to lay eyes on it as soon as she could.

During all her time in Braavos, Arya rarely thought of home. She did not desire the memories. A girl had no memories. A girl was no one. And Arya wanted it that way, because being no one was less painful than being Arya Stark. Arya Stark had lost everyone she had ever loved. She had lost her home. The land where she had run around, trying to avoid her septa, where her brothers had chased after her at her mother's orders, was now trampled on by traitors.

However, upon Arya's arrival back to Westeros, and to the north, the memories came flooding back. And they were painful, quite painful indeed. But as the initial heartache waned, longing replaced it. Arya Stark had not realized how much she had truly missed home. She missed the smell of the trees only native to the north, and the sound of the morning frost crunching beneath her boots, and even the gray skies that never completely turned blue even on the sunniest of days.

With each passing day, Arya could tell they were nearing the north. The trees were beginning to look older, more weary. The sounds of wildlife were becoming louder, as there was less traffic flowing into the north than in the southern places of Westeros. And so Arya chose to rode closer to the front and after several days of this, was confident that Ser Gendry would not bother her.

But the gods had other plans for Arya Stark. Perhaps it was the old gods desiring for Arya Stark to announce her return to the north and instill the hope in others that the Stark name was not dead. Perhaps it was the red god trying to punish her. But as fate would have it Arya would find herself very much in Gendry's presence.

With little journey left, Arya grew ill. It came on quickly, probably from a bit of tainted meat or soiled water. Whatever the cause, it left Arya completely at its mercy. The morning that it hit, Arya found herself greatly fatigued, struggling to keep her eyes open long enough to worm out of her sleeping roll. As the sun rose and men prepared to move out, Gendry came to find Arya as she was normally an early riser.

"Are you alright?" Gendry asked the motionless lump that was Arya.

At the sound of his voice, Arya's eyelids twitched, but she could not find the energy to open them. Her stomach churned uneasily, threatening to eject its contents if she opened her mouth.

"Perhaps we should rest a day..."

"No!" Arya finally gasped. Her throat felt parched, her voice was scratchy from fatigue. "Not on...on my account..."

Gendry frowned. "You can barely speak, you won't be able to ride on your own."

And this is how Arya found herself seated upon Gendry's mount and Gendry seated behind her. Although, Arya had little time to worry over this, as she barely stayed conscious that day. Instead she left the steady movement of the horse and the heat from Gendry's body lull her to sleep all day.

The next day, however, was a different story. Arya woke, still fatigued and still weak, but more aware than she had the day prior. This time when Gendry found her, she was awake, but struggling to get up and moving.

"You're still not okay," Gendry raised an eyebrow as he watched Arya struggle to roll up her sleeping roll while looking pale and ready to collapse.

"I'm fine," Arya insisted but a wave of light headedness took her and she swayed.

And so for the second day Arya found herself sitting in front of Gendry. She slept often, but was awake for meals and long enough to process thoughts. Thoughts such as: 'he smells just like he used to' and 'does he always let strange women ride on his horse with him?'

Towards late afternoon of this day, Gendry spoke to Arya, who had recently woken from a nap and was nibbling on a piece of salted jerky.

"Can you tell me what Winterfell is like?" he asked.

"What do you mean?"

"I had...a friend from Winterfell once," Gendry started, a sense of unease in his voice.

At this, Arya froze. It was her. He was talking about her. His friend...Arya.

"She spoke fondly of Winterfell."

Arya couldn't help the small smile that formed on her face. But she was facing ahead, and so she did not show this to Gendry. "Winterfell is special. It's beautiful...and simple. We don't care as much for the drama in the south. We rely on each other for survival and kinship. We couldn't survive the harsh winters without one another."

"She did mention the winters..." Gendry said with a slight shudder.

"Who was this friend?" Arya asked before she could help herself.

She could feel Gendry's body tense behind her. He was silent for a long moment before speaking again. "She was..." another pause, then a chuckle. "...not much of a lady. Smart though. And strong. And brave. Bravest girl I ever knew. Hell...one of the bravest souls I've ever known."

Arya could feel her heart leap in her chest. A strange feeling that almost made her light headed. Or maybe that was the illness. "What was her name?"

Another pause. "...Arry."

Arya smiled and ducked her head, just in case anyone looked over and saw. So he had kept her secret, all these years. Well, at least it was likely that he had. At least he wasn't telling just anyone. After all this time.

"What happened to your friend?"

"She's...dead," Gendry said quietly. "At least, I think she's dead. I haven't seen her in years."

Arya couldn't help herself. She twisted in her seat to peer at Gendry Waters. His head was bowed, his lips turned into a frown. His impossibly blue eyes were storming with grief. And suddenly, Arya was overpowered with emotions. They were so strong that she automatically fought them, pushing them away so that they could not become part of her. It was silent between the pair as she fought to contain herself. When she finally did, she dared one more question.

"Is that why you're leading this army?" she asked quietly. "Because of your friend?"

"She saved my life...this was the least I could do," Gendry said with the saddest of smiles,

And just like that, everything had changed between Arya and Gendry. The next day Arya was fit to ride on her own, but she rode her steed beside Gendry's. She ate dinner at his campfire and listened to his stories. She couldn't reveal herself. And she was still careful about how she acted around him, but now it was difficult to return to ignoring his presence.

For so long Arya held bitterness in her heart. And Gendry's words did not change the past. They did not change how he had left her. But hearing his grief over his loss of her, knowing his cause was because of her...it liberated her. The bitterness ebbed. Some remained, yes. But not enough to keep her away from someone who had once been her dearest friend.

On the eve of their arrival to the rendezvous point where they were to meet Jon and his troops, Arya and Gendry finished their dinner beside a campfire. The men they had been eating with had wandered off and only the two of them remained. It had been a few weeks since Arya had taken ill and by now it was routine for the pair to eat and chat. Gendry was much chattier than he used to be, or maybe it was just with her. But tonight, Arya broached a topic she'd been thinking about the length of her journey.

"So, is there something between you and the queen?" Arya asked.

Gendry, who was in the middle of swallowing a drink, began to cough and sputter.

Arya raised an eyebrow. "I'll assume that's a yes..."

Recovering, Gendry stared at Arya with wide eyes. "How..."

"It wasn't difficult to deduce," Arya said airily. "I could see the way you looked at her, and I could see the way she looked at you."

Now Gendry looked interested rather than mortified. "How does she look at me?"

Arya frowned, suddenly annoyed to find that Gendry cared. "You didn't answer my question."

Gendry frowned, watching Arya in contemplation for a quiet moment. He opened his mouth, about to speak before closing it and shaking his head. "It wouldn't be right for me to speak of it."

Arya found herself frowning. So there _was_ something going on. She knew it. But was it a lover relationship? Or was there something more afoot? Did they simply fancy one another but did not act on it?

Arya found that this did not sit well in her belly. There was a sour feeling in her gut that she did not all together understand and suddenly she felt the need to get away from Gendry and go to bed. She did so, barely bidding Gendry a good night.

But there was little time to dwell on these thoughts, as the next day, Arya was home.

* * *

 **A/N: This took me way way too long to get out and I apologize. Having a crazy busy life will do that. Also, my creativity hits walls sometimes. But thanks for hanging in there and I hope this chapter wasn't a disappointment! I struggled a lot with whether or not I was moving their relationship too quickly and if it seemed authentic. But in the end, I had to post it and hold my breath because no other ideas were coming to me over the past...well, however long it's been. So, your reviews and commentary would be helpful! I'm always open to opinions and definitely suggestions.**

 **I'm hoping to update A Tale of Ice and Fire next if any of you are also readers of that story. I have not forgotten about these stories, I'm just prone to writer's block!**

 **I hope you're having a wonderful spring and I hope to hear from you lovely readers.**


	5. Musings

Right

 **Disclaimer: All rights reserved to G.R.R. Martin**

05\. Musings

 **Gendry**

Cat's words swam in Gendry's head long after she retired from the fire. Gendry remained, staring into the dancing flames, barely noticing as they dwindled, so lost in thought he was.

" _I could see the way you looked at her, and I could see the way she looked at you."_

Gendry's mind battled with itself. Was there truth in the northerner's words? Did she have any authority to accurately interpret the looks shared by others? She seemed perceptive enough, this was true. But could she be trusted to judge something so important?

Of course, Cat had no way of knowing how important a look from the queen could be. She could have no way of knowing that the queen of Westeros had essentially proposed to him before he had left on this journey. But it was a political marriage, Gendry knew; a way to close the wounds left by the war. It was not established by love.

But could it be that there was potential for love? Did the queen harbor feelings for him? Even in the slightest?

Gendry supposed that they had shared an ample amount of time together. They hadn't exchanged intimate conversation: their pasts, desires, dreams. In fact, Gendry knew surprisingly little about his beautiful queen. But then...he did know what he _needed_ to know. That she was kind, loyal, fair.

Perhaps Queen Daenerys knew all she needed to of Gendry too? Whatever those might be. And the rest? Well, that could come with time.

Still, the enormity of it all weighed heavily on Gendry. He would be a _king_. He would be married to the most powerful woman in all of Westeros; a woman more intelligent than he, more beautiful to be sure, and truthfully, stronger in every sense than perhaps the fact that she might struggle to lift his warhammer.

How could it be that a bastard boy from Flea Bottom found himself in this position? As a young lad made apprentice, Gendry's aspirations reached as high as crafting beautiful weapons for lords he'd never see, for they'd sooner send their squires to fetch their weapons than travel among commoners. As a young man of five and ten Gendry's sole hope was simply keeping himself and his companions alive. Even after joining Daenerys Targaryen's cause, being made captain of the Queensgaurd was still a higher honor than he had ever hoped to be given. _King._ It was simply unfathomable.

It was certainly more than he would ever have imagined when he pledged his service to his queen. The fire crackled on as Gendry's mind wandered back to the evening he first laid eyes on his future queen.

 _It must have been nightfall for all the exhaustion Gendry felt. Or perhaps it was even dawn by now. It was impossible to tell, for the sky was completely hidden by clouds of black smoke. He could only see by the light of the many fires that blazed around him, burning down homes and businesses and lives._

 _The smell of burning flesh hung heavy in the air, as did the coppery smell of blood and the sharp smell of men. They were odors Gendry would never forget, if he ever saw another day of his life. As Gendry was pushed back further and further to the boundary of his territory, his chances of this seemed fewer._

 _The Brotherhood without Banners had been this city's last defense against the invading army led by Daenerys Targaryen. She had stormed her way across Westeros, defeating all that stood in her way and burning the rest. She was nearing King's Landing but it seemed that Queen Cersei was intent to keep her forces with her and not send them to the aide of the realm she was sworn to protect._

 _They had been fighting all day, or night, or however long it had been since Daenerys' army had breached the city. Gendry and his fellow 'bannerless' men were tasked with keeping the commonfolk away from the battle and to keep them alive. Gendry, who had never been apart of such a large scale battle, quickly discovered this was not as simple as he imagined. In the heat of battle, it is hard to see who is an enemy and who is not, when one's body is working to keep it alive before the brain can decipher who is who._

 _All Gendry could say for sure was that he was failing his assignment. Perhaps not terribly, perhaps tremendously; it was hard to say. He did know that he would defend all the villagers he could with his dying breath. Everyone he had seen was holed up in the large inn to his back and Ned was off gathering as many civilians as possible to protect within the inn's walls. But Gendry could both feel and see the enemy advancing and he feared that this protection would be futile._

 _At last, as Gendry's strength was failing him, shadows emerged among the thick smoke in front of him. Men appeared, all dressed in black leather armor, holding spears and shields. A three-headed dragon was painted upon each and every one. The sigil of House Targaryen._

" _ **Arry, you said dragon fire melted these walls?" Hot Pie asked, glancing up from fetching water to gaze up at the charred walls of Harrenhal.**_

" _ **That's right," Arya said. Her small form sat upon the workbench beside the anvil Gendry was currently using. How she got the chance to take these little visits to see him, he was unsure, but he highly doubted it was coincidence that Hot Pie also needed water from the well right beside the forge he worked at. Tough, waterdancer Arya Stark missed her friends. He would have smirked if he didn't have to tell Arya she was wrong.**_

" _ **That's horse shi-" Gendry trailed off at the sight of Arya. "-Nonsense."**_

 _ **Arya shot Gendry the coldest glare she could muster; much less because he told her she was wrong, and much more because he tried his hardest not to swear in front of a 'lady'.**_

" _ **It's not horse shit," Arya insisted with emphasis on the last part of her sentence, crossing her arms and earning a snort from Gendry at her spitefulness.**_

" _ **There are no dragons," Gendry said.**_

" _ **There used to be!"**_

" _ **That's just a legend," Gendry said.**_

" _ **Of course it's not!" Arya continued, exasperated with his supposed idiocy. "I learned all about them from my maester. What's more...I saw them."**_

" _ **Saw dragons? You've truly lost your mind."**_

" _ **No, you idiot!" Arya huffed. "In the dungeons of the Red Keep...the Targaryens used to adorn their throne room with dragons skulls. King Robert must have had them all taken to the dungeons because I saw them there."**_

" _ **What's a lady doing down in the dungeons?" Gendry asked while Hot Pie looked on in awe. Arya smacked Gendry beside the head.**_

" _ **Catching cats!" Arya hissed, annoyed with his constant interruptions. Gendry rolled his eyes at her and the fact that she thought this was an apt explanation. "I saw them! One skull was bigger than two of you."**_

 _It was rumored that Daenerys Targaryen had dragons. Three dragons. Three very very large dragons. He did not see them now. Were they flying above him? Or was the queen holding them back for the sacking of King's Landing?_

 _For what seemed like ages, no one moved. Daenerys' men stood in long lines in front of what was left of the Brotherhood without Banners and the inn to their backs. The Targaryen soldiers did not speak and the Brotherhood was too tired and too preoccupied with visions of dragons to make one last stand. But then, the soldiers began to part down the middle until a woman stepped through and stood before them all. She was tall and slender, dressed completely in black, complete with a cloak and knee-high boots. Her hair was a pale silver, but not the kind Gendry had seen on the elderly. It was other worldly and seemed to have its own shine in the dark. Her violet-shaded eyes gave away her identity. She was Daenerys Targaryen._

 _She was beautiful, with her exotic features and slender body. But the way she stood among the flames and smoke, unfazed by that around her, it was frighteningly beautiful. She reminded him of something just then, or someone. Another female, tough and calm against the world's horrors._

" _I am Daenerys Targaryen, rightful queen of the Andals, mother of dragons and breaker of chains," announced the woman. Her voice was strong and carried over the moans of those fallen and the crackling of buildings burning to dust. "I do not wish for any more bloodshed of the innocent. Please, lay down your weapons and there need not be any more killing."_

 _Perhaps it was the heat of the fires around him. Or the exhaustion of hours of battle. Maybe it was delirium. Quite possibly the logical part of Gendry's brain simply knew this was the best course of action. Whatever the reason, Gendry believed this beautiful woman. He believed she truly did not desire bloodshed. And so Gendry dropped his heavy warhammer to the ground, where it made a loud 'thud'._

 _Daenerys Targaryen, rightful queen of the Andals, turned her gaze to Gendry. A moment passed before the others, one by one, dropped their weapons to the scorched earth._

 _True to her word, the battle ended and no one else died. The Brotherhood was rounded up and placed in a tent behind Daenerys'. It wasn't furnished but it provided an escape from falling debris and falling embers. They were given provisions and placed under guard._

" _You think she's going to kill us?" Lem asked, munching on an apple._

" _Not likely," Ned replied. "She would have already done it by now."_

 _Harwin piped up from there, and Tom O'Sevens after him. And so the banter went on. Daenerys had kindly supplied wine for the men and combined with their fatigue from battle, they all quickly fell into a slumber. Except for Gendry._

 _Gendry was a blacksmith. He made weapons and armor for fighters to use, but Gendry wasn't a fighter. Not really. He'd been in a few fights, but never a battle. And it haunted him. The screams and the crying, the shouts and the moaning of those dying around him. He couldn't rid himself of them, no matter how much wine he drank. It should have put him to sleep, all the wine, but the screams were louder._

 _Gendry was awake when Daenerys and her party entered their own tent. Lanterns were lit and Gendry could see shadows standing around a table. Low voices began to drift over him._

" _Another victory, your grace," came the soft voice of an older man._

" _More people dead," Daenerys replied, spite dripping from her words. "This doesn't feel like a victory. I am here to rule and protect my people...and they're dying..."_

 _A thin figure swiped something from the table and slumped into a nearby seat._

" _Unpleasant thing: war," a second male voice mused. "But we are nearing King's Landing."_

" _Yes," said the older man's voice gravely. "And I am sure your sister has planned quite the welcoming for us."_

" _I have no doubt," agreed the second male voice. "I'm sure ours will be much warmer though."_

 _The dragons. They were really going to use dragons to take back the throne! Gendry wondered what they might look like. How big were they?_

" _Would your sister allow the citizens to leave the city before the battle starts?"Daenerys asked, sounding hopeful._

 _The brother snorted. "Cersei would sooner use every man, woman and child as a shield."_

" _How vile..." Daenerys' voice was a mix of disgust and disbelief._

 _The conversation carried on for quite some time until the occupants of the tent retired to bed. Gendry laid among his sleeping brothers and listened. He listened to the Queen Cersei's brother's quips, the older man's sagely advice, and most importantly, he listened to every word that left Daenerys' lips. By the end of the night, Gendry had decided that this queen was a queen he would die for._

 _However, the next morning when Gendry told his brothers his plans to offer the Targaryen his life, they were not at all so ready to die for her._

" _Have you lost your mind, boy!?" Harwin chastised Gendry. "Did you see the destruction she's caused? How many men have died?"_

" _How many men died before she came?" Gendry countered. "We've been fighting the injustice of the crown for years and we've finally come along a way to end it."_

" _You think a Targaryen is going to bring justice to Westeros?" Lord Beric barked out a sarcastic laugh. "Do you know the stories of her father, the Mad King? How he burned friends and enemies alike? He killed Lord Rickard Stark, little Arya's grandfather, and Brandon Stark, her uncle. The Mad King's son, Rhaegar, kidnapped her aunt, Lady Lyanna. She never returned home alive. The Targaryens were tyrants!"_

" _This one isn't," Gendry insisted._

" _Oh? How could you possibly decide that, lad?" Harwin stared him down. "Is it because she's beautiful? The beautiful are just as monstrous as the rest of us."_

" _It has nothing to do with that!" Gendry gritted his teeth, face growing red. They weren't listening to him. He just_ _ **knew**_ _. He had heard her speak last night. He had heard the true Daenerys Targaryen in her voice. "You can all do what you want, but I'm joining her."_

" _And what if she finds out that you're Robert Baratheon's bastard?" Lord Beric challenged. "She'll have you executed."_

 _Gendry's insistence faltered for a moment at that. It wasn't something he thought of often, his parentage. It was inconsequential considering King Robert was dead; and Gendry had never known the man. In fact, he probably should have hated him considering he impregnated his mother for five minutes of fun and left her to raise him. Lem had pointed out at some point that it gave Gendry a claim for the throne, but Gendry didn't want it, even if he had the tens of thousands of men it would take to get the throne back from Cersei Lannister._

 _But would Daenerys care that Gendry thought had had no right to the throne just because he was the bastard son of the late king? Or would she still view him as a threat? Was he really willing to risk his neck on a gut feeling?_

 _Did he really have anything to lose? Gendry could be dead tomorrow, fighting gods knew who. Every day Gendry risked his life working with the Brotherhood. At least if his joined the Targaryen, he would be risking his life for something that truly mattered: a better world. Sure, the Brotherhood's aims were well meaning, but at the end of the day, were they truly making a difference in this world?_

 _Gendry knew the answer to all these questions. At least, he thought he did. His gut was urging him forward, and he knew what he had to do._

" _It has been an honor serving with you," Gendry nodded to the men._

 _What was left of the Brotherhood without Banners exchanged looks with one another, but Gendry paid them no mind. He marched to the front the tent, called for a guard, and requested an audience with the queen._

 _Gendry wasn't quite sure whether or not he was surprised when the queen met with him. She was seated at the head of a table littered with maps and what appeared to be game pieces. Two guards escorted him to the opposite side of the table from their queen and remained in striking distance of him._

 _Several others occupied the large tent. A young woman with dark skin stood at the queen's elbow. Slightly behind them stood an older man with graying hair. Seated off to the side, drinking from a goblet was a dwarf with golden hair and a missing nose._

" _My guards say you wish to speak with me," Daenerys said, her eyes appraising Gendry._

" _Yes, your grace," Gendry confirmed._

" _What is your name?" she asked._

" _Gendry."_

" _Just Gendry?"_

" _Ser Gendry," Gendry shrugged._

" _A bastard," the dark skinned woman murmured in her queen's ear. She must not have been familiar with titles and names, and lack there of, in Westeros._

" _And what can I do for you, Ser Gendry?" Daenerys asked, cocking her head ever so slightly in interest._

" _I wish to pledge you my service," Gendry said, trying to stand as tall as possible._

 _Daenerys' slim eyebrow lifted ever so slightly. The others within the tent showed their surprise with a quick exchange of glances. It was the dwarf that spoke._

" _You'll have to excuse my suspicions, Ser Gendry, seeing as we were just in battle with you not twelve hours ago."_

 _Gendry nodded his head once in understanding. "Yes, many good men are dead."_

" _And yet you stand before me?" Daenerys examined the black-haired night carefully. "Why?"_

 _Gendry stared unblinkingly at the beautiful woman before him. He had practiced his answer to this question all night, but the words were lost to him now. Staring into the amethyst-colored eyes, Gendry suddenly found that he wanted himself speaking without truly thinking._

" _I am the bastard son of Robert Baratheon. I never knew the man but I was hunted for the blood I shared with him by the Lannisters. Cersei Lannister has destroyed countless lives for her own gains. The Brotherhood...we've been trying to fight the best we can; but at the end of the day what have we truly done? Killed a few rogue soldiers before they robbed a village? What_ _ **you**_ _are doing..." Gendry paused. "...you're changing the world."_

 _Silence met Gendry's dialogue. He was painfully aware of the intense stares from the dwarf and the older man. He tried to shut them out and keep his eyes trained on the mother of dragons. She stared back at Gendry, her face unreadable._

" _Your grace..." the older man finally spoke up. "He could be the last remaining Baratheon..."_

" _Tell me, Gendry," spoke the dwarf. "What could possibly possess you to tell the queen your stake on the iron throne?"_

" _Stake?" Gendry barked, amused before he realized no one in the tent was smiling. He sobered immediately. "I'm a bastard from Flea Bottom. I didn't know who my father was until recently. I don't know how to rule a kingdom and I don't want to. And with what men am I to take back a kingdom with? I am only asking your grace for an opportunity to do something worth something."_

 _Another moment of silence._

" _Then why bring up your parentage at all, lad?" asked the older gentleman._

" _Well...I didn't want to lie..."_

 _The dwarf and the older man glanced to each other in astonishment but Daenerys' gaze didn't leave Gendry. Gendry watched her beautiful face as her lips quirked into a smile._

She was so beautiful, Gendry remembered. He had never seen anything like his queen. What was he sitting her thinking for? He really was stupid. Of course he would marry his queen if she would have him.

She deserved better.

'But she asked for you' the little voice in his head whispered.

Why was he fighting this? The queen had a request of him and Gendry would be damned if he said no to his beautiful queen.

Tomorrow Gendry would be meeting Jon Snow to plan what promised to be a bloody, deadly battle. But tonight, Ser Gendry Baratheon fell asleep with a smile on his face.

* * *

 **Author's Notes**

 **I live! This was a little challenging for me to write. Getting down the right level of significance of Gendry's meeting with Daenerys was difficult to gauge for me. I didn't want to make it too weak, but knowing Gendry's character, going overboard was a real possibility. And then by the time I finally finished, I had completely forgotten to plan an ending for the chapter...**

 **I love each and every one of you. I am so lucky to have you all! If you have the time, please comment and let me know your thoughts.**

 **Much love.**


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